Mademoiselle Chambon

In Stéphane Brizé's restrained fourth film (which he's adapted from a 1996 Éric Holder novel) a tight-lipped mason named Jean (Vincent Lindon) in an unnamed provincial French town meets his little boy's schoolteacher, the Mademoiselle of the title (Sandrine Kiberlain) and his world subtly changes. He loves his wife Anne-Marie (Aure Atika), who works in a print shop, and little Jérémy (Arthur Le Houerou), but Mademoiselle (her name is Véronique, but Jean never gets beyond the formal "vous" with her) has a refinement, a delicacy. And she plays the violin -- classical music that Jean seems unfamiliar with but delighted by.

At first Mademoiselle asks Jean at the last minute to fill in and speak to her class (and his son's) about his work, an experience that also gives him great pleasure. Perhaps he enjoys indirectly telling this refined maiden lady who attracts him about his basic, satisfying work, building houses that are always different and will last, as one child asks, "for your whole life." Then when she asks help with a broken window at her flat, he takes a look and then insists on being the one to replace it. Then comes the music. He insists that she play; photos and the violin tell him of her former profession.

This film has only a hint of sex, and no raw physicality, but it works with the body, with silence, and with gesture. Throughout it shows Lindon acting the part by doing hard construction work on screen, breaking up paving with a pneumatic drill, mounting the window, laying bricks of a wall, and so on. He even walks like a skilled laborer. Anne-Marie is always ironing, cooking, shopping, making lists. Mademoiselle Chambon reads, rests, places her hand delicately on her neck. Jean tenderly washes the feet of his old father (charming veteran Jean-Marc Thibault).

Finally the teacher plays a recording of chamber music at her place for Jean and as they sit together listening they slowly hold hands, embrace, and cling together as if at home, but afraid to go further. This carefully paced sequence is one of the film's most effective. However many "make-out" scenes you may have seen, this one still feels fresh. Lindon is like a fine mason in his acting, slowly, patiently laying the bricks of gesture. A silence and a pause can speak volumes.

Both Véronique and Jean fight their attraction. And can it go anywhere? But it keeps growing, despite gestures in the opposite direction. Jean tells Mademoiselle that her CD's interest him even though he hasn't listened to them yet. She usually changes schools every year, but tells him, in a key scene, that she's been asked to fill in for someone and stay on. But instead of expressing enthusiasm, Jean blurts out that his wife is pregnant.

This is one anchor to the family: one child, and another coming. Another is Jean's father. Jean and Anne-Marie are planning a big birthday party for the old man at their house with family members coming from all over. Family matters. But Jean shows how far his feelings have gone in another direction -- even though we've seen only those restrained moments -- when he invites Mademoiselle Chambon to come and play the violin for his father. It's not certain that his wife has suspected anything, but she has noticed that Jean seems bored, indifferent, irritable. And she might suspect why now.

What follows is surprising -- agonizingly suspenseful -- and quite familiar. We've seen this kind of story before. We've seen these characters before. But we've rarely seen more delicacy than Bizé brings to his treatment of the story, which is haunting in a classic way without feeling in any way retro -- though perhaps the provincial setting was chosen to avoid that, to have events unfold in a place that's less aggressively modern and hip than Paris.

Lindon and Kiberlain are husband and wife, though now estranged, which may help explain the magnetic energy in their scenes together. There are plenty of lines here, but there's a distrust of language, together with a touching desire to use it properly. "I'd like to hear more tunes," Jean tells Véronique. "Is that right, to say 'tunes'?." At the outset, Jérémy poses a homework problem to his parents to find the "direct object" in a sentence and they haven't a clue, but patiently figure out what this means. Bizé is great with the children. Arthur Le Houerou as the son is unfailingly alive and natural; and his classmates are spontaneous and charming (though primed, as classes are) when they excitedly ask Jean about his work.

If there is a weakness to the film it's the danger that the differences of class and culture are pelled out a little too clearly. Lindon is a magnificent actor, but as a man with many illustrious relatives and one-time suitor of Princess Caroline of Monaco he is not exactly drawing on personal experience in playing a mason whose father was also a mason. Nonetheless he is for the most part utterly convincing. It's the film itself that plays on broad differences that a screenplay of 90 minutes duration cannot quite adequately delineate. Lindon has a harried, careworn, but solid quality that fits a working man in need of reawakening. Kiberlain seems held inward, decent but tragically needy. You wouldn't know that she's been around the block with the actual Lindon and had a child by him; she could be this uptight maiden lady on the brink of lifelong spinsterhood. There's a sadness about her, a sweet sadness.

Opened in mid-October 2009 in Paris, this film is part of the Rendez-Vous with French Cinema at Lincoln Center for 2010. What a contrast with the mad body-presses and adulterous whirlwind of another film in the series, Cédric Kahn's Regret. When it comes to the varieties of love, the French have the bases covered.

This is a simple story on kind people: Jean tries his best to live his life as a good person. When he describes his mason's job, we understand he likes it deeply and is quietly proud of it. His simplicity moves the teacher and the watchers. She invites him to see a problematic window in her flat. This change of window is like a symbol of what will be happening to them: Jean asks her to play the violin for him, and music will bring him elsewhere, beyond his today's limits -the classical music itself plays an important part, Jean is deeply moved by this discovery too, not only because she is playing the music herself-. This moment is for me a pure beauty. On her side, she is also brought to a new area in her life where there is someone who loves when she plays music, who is eager to learn and to open himself, someone who cares about others and about her: this is building confidence in her and adds a new depth in her interest in people and in life, although we understand there will be pain for both of them!No one wants to hurt any one around! The choice will have to be done and these good people will prefer being hurt themselves than their beloved around. When Jean asks her to accept and play the violin for his father' birthday party, he is so straightforward, so daring for a simple -nearly shy- person, that it seems clear he has reached also a new confidence, he has gone behind the window. We also think about what is exactly loving someone: Jean' wife understands so simply it means letting the other one be happy, grow and develop himself without trying to pressure him and use guilt. She is also building a new confidence in her husband and thus in life... This moment has been a very fulfilling for me: thank you Monsieur Brize!

Jean is a construction worker,who is invited by his son,Jeremy,to speak at his school on what he does for a living. While there,he is somewhat taken by Jeremy's pretty (and younger)school teacher,Vernonique Chambon, who after is thankful for Jean's speech on building. When Jean discovers that Veronique is a one time musician,specializing in the violin,he is further smitten with her,to the point of stalking her via daily telephone calls & parking outside of her flat and just waiting & hoping she will make an appearance. This may sound like the trapping for a psycho killer horror film,but goes in a totally different direction. Up to now,Jean & Veronique were both emotionally distant people,even to their individual families. Will they find one another,or will they merely drift apart? That's for you to find out. Stephanie Brize (Entre Adultes,Le Bleu Des Villes)directs & co writes the screen play,with the assistance of Florence Vignon,from the novel by Eric Holder. The film's striking cinematography is by Antoine Heberle,with editing by Anne Klotz. The cast includes the great Vincent Linden (Betty Blue,Welcome,School Of Flesh),as Jean,Sandrine Kiberlain,as Vernonique Chambon,Aure Atika,as Jean's loving wife,Anne Marie,Arthur Le Houerou as their son,Jeremy,and Jean Marc Thibault as Jean's Father. With Bruno Lochet,Michelle Gaddet,Anne Houdy & Jean Francois Molet. This is a film that is in no hurry to tell it's story,as it's pacing is V-E-R-Y slow (take note any & all fans of Michael Bay,or any other director of over the top bombast:you will be bored out of your skulls,so steer clear of this one,for both your benefit,as well as movie goers that have no issues regarding slowly paced films). Spoken in French with English subtitles. Not rated by the MPAA,this film serves up a few outbursts of rude language & some brief adult content (but nothing too graphic & explicit)

One of the highest compliments I can pay a movie is that, after watching it, I find it hard to watch other movies. I am a huge movie fan and such films are rare. "Mademoiselle Chambon" is that kind of a movie. After watching it, I couldn't watch any other film, so I just watched "Mademoiselle Chambon" again. "Mademoiselle Chambon" does the best job of any film I've ever seen at capturing one particular life experience.

Some loves make sense and fit neatly into our life narratives. We fall in love with a person because we've had extended contact with that person. We know that he is of an appropriate age, social class, belief system, and occupation. We agree with this person on politics, music, and food. We have long talks with these rational loves, and share life events.

Other loves are wildly irrational; they're like being overwhelmed by an invisible wind. We look across a crowded room, catch the eye of a complete stranger, and, within moments or hours, we know we are as in love as we will ever be. We're not in love because we've had a long conversation with this person and gotten to know them; we haven't. We're not in love because we've shared key life events; we have not. We don't decide on this type of love. It decides on us.

With this love, every tiny detail, every evanescent nuance, silent moments when nothing is said, take on thunderous impact: her eyes move from the floor to his shoulder; her knees swing three inches toward his, his lips slightly part. Our hearts pound. We surrender to the full thrust of love, all of its physical and spiritual manifestations, and yet we know next to nothing concrete about the other person. Perhaps we never see that person again. Perhaps we exchange a few stolen kisses, or an afternoon of passion. Perhaps we connect forever; perhaps we say a heart-wrenching goodbye. "Mademoiselle Chambon" captures wordless, irrational love.

Jean (Vincent Lindon) is a rumpled, paunchy, middle-aged construction worker. He is married to Anne-Marie, a factory worker. They have one son, Jeremy. Anne-Marie is hurt on the job and can't pick up Jeremy from school. Jean must go. There he encounters Mademoiselle Veronique Chambon (Sandrine Kiberlain) Jeremy's teacher. And Jean will never be the same.

Jean and Anne-Marie have a few other meetings. Not much is said. Not much happens. A passer-by, carefully observing their encounters, would have no idea that he or she was witnessing an event that neither Jean nor Veronique will ever forget.

Many "slow" movies bore me to tears. "Mademoiselle Chambon" is a "slow" movie and it never bored me. I came to understand that every line of dialogue, every apparently casual scene, is a minefield packed with meaning. In the opening scenes, Jean reveals his awkward inability to help his son with his homework. This prepares us for the story of an inarticulate construction worker who falls in love with a school teacher. The topic of his son's homework is the direct object – the object acted upon by the noun – or by fate. In a couple of scenes of Veronique's apartment, the viewer catches a glimpse of Bernini's statue of a helpless St. Teresa of Avila being pierced with an arrow of passion by a smiling cherub. St. Teresa is very much the direct object of that arrow, as are Jean and Veronique. Passion is beautiful and painful, life affirming and life threatening. Passion is both sexual and sacred. Jean is shown both tearing down, and putting up, walls. These walls are metaphorical as well as actual.

Three scenes in this movie are as definitive a treatment of their subject matter as any scene in any film. In one, a musician plays music with her back to her audience. Before she begins, she turns around with a luminous look of vulnerability. In another, two people listen to a piece of music. I won't describe the third scene to you, because I don't want to give too much of the plot away, but if you see the film, you'll know what I mean.

"Mademoiselle Chambon" is not perfect. It is under-produced, in Dogme-95 style. Actors don't wear make-up; there's no professional lighting to speak of. "Mademoiselle Chambon" would have worked better for me with higher production values.

I got to know Jean, but I was never sure of Veronique. I wanted to like her more than I did, to understand her very hard choices better, and to respect her choices more. Aure Atika is miscast. I never believed her as a factory worker, or as Jean's wife. And the ending struck me as incomplete and unsatisfying. I think the filmmaker wanted to make a movie that would ravish audiences emotionally. That he did. I wanted to have an intellectual understanding of how these events would play out in the future of the characters. I didn't get that from this movie, and I left it feeling that a sequel is necessary.

Finally, of course this film is like the classic David Lean film, "Brief Encounter" starring Trevor Howard and Celia Johnson. I think that film gives the viewer more of a sense of the fullness of all the characters, and how the events shown during the film will play out in the characters' lives in the future. In short, to me, "Brief Encounter" felt more like a complete work of art.

This is a slow film, and I find certain takes to be unnecessarily long. For example, the opening scene with Jean, the male lead, noisily working with his jackhammer can be shortened with no impact to the story telling.

However, this will be all the fault-finding I can do. The acting from the three lead actors is great and the music, though sparse, is appropriate. Jean is a quiet, responsible blue collar worker who takes care of this wife and son, and shows great love for his ageing father whose feet he often washed with care and tenderness. He is a simple person and a good human being. In fact, there are no bad characters in this film. What it is about are choices in life, and there are no right or wrong choices here.

When fate brought Jean to his son's teacher, Veronique, who gives him a taste of another world he had no previous exposure to, he was enchanted. And this enchantment transforms itself to a fierce love for her which is all consuming. Jean is shy, and looks down to the ground most of the time. So moments of intimacy are subtle and subdued. But you can feels the intensity of Jean's feeling and what it does to his mind.

In the end he has to make a choice: the love of his life or his responsibility to his wife, son, and ageing father, all of which he care about. No easy and simple decision here. And it will be difficult to predict what we will do when we are in his position, knowing that either way there will be no happy ending for all.

But, hey, such is life. One can argue the very confrontation of this choice makes life worth living. This is simply a great romance story of very real, ordinary people told without fanfare. A great French cinema experience in my opinion.